


For Your Entertainment

by mistergoblin



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Exhibitionism, Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Piercings, Oblivious Kíli, Sex Toys, Sexually Frustrated Legolas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistergoblin/pseuds/mistergoblin
Summary: Sometimes, the sharp senses granted to elven-kind can be both a blessing and a curse, as Prince Legolas discovers upon one fateful afternoon.





	For Your Entertainment

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this kink meme prompt,](https://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=26275330#t26275330) which really just grabbed me and wouldn't let go until it was 4 am and this thing was finished...

The spring was small, yet deep, ringed with lush ferns that dipped their delicate emerald heads into the still water. Steam curled from its surface in lazy curlicues, promising warmth and comfort. Best of all, it was buried deep within the densest part of Mirkwood, far from the Elven-King’s Halls and any pointy ears that might hear far more than any involved would wish them to.

Kíli beamed.

It was _perfect_.

He had never thought of himself as a _particularly_ lustful dwarf — of course, he had his moments, being a young and healthy specimen with an appreciation for pretty things — but nothing he’d previously experienced compared to the urgent desire searing through his body. It had been building for weeks and weeks, since the moment he’d first stepped foot in the elven realm, sent on behalf of his Uncle to negotiate a variety of treaties. As the days wore on, an unforeseen issue had presented itself to Kíli: he was accustomed to touching himself fairly often, and had not realised how important it was to him until he couldn’t do it any more.

Because he _couldn’t_. He didn’t know all that much about elves, and what little he did know was mostly derived from muttered Khuzdul comments from his Uncle or Dwalin, which were unlikely to be reliable. However, he definitely knew of elves’ heightened senses, and the walls of his allotted rooms were far thinner than stone. The thought of a strange elf hearing him committing such an act, especially when he was meant to be representing Erebor, made Kíli want to swear a vow of chastity to Mahal. 

So he had forced himself to be content with waiting, and ignoring the increasingly vivid and outlandish images that introduced themselves into his mind at inappropriate times.

The negotiations had dragged on.

And _on_.

Eventually, it reached the point that Kíli truly thought that if he did not soon — to quote Dwalin — _polish his blade,_ he would burst into flame in the middle of Thranduil’s Great Hall. It was at this point of absolute desperation that he remembered he had technically been granted free rein of Mirkwood, and would be able to seek privacy outside the palace. So as soon as his presence was not required for a few hours, he had marched up the winding stairs and through the immense double-doors, announced his intention to ‘go for a stroll’ to the guards, and ignored their incredulous eyes on his back as he’d tried his very best to _not_ sprint headlong into the trees.

His self-control was improving. Balin would be proud — not that he would ever, _ever_ hear of Kíli’s current predicament, mind. If Fíli tattled on him he would finish what Bolg had started and send his brother to join Mahal’s guard, consequences be damned. 

Tearing off his tunic with eager fingers, Kíli wriggled his feet out of his boots, hopping ungracefully towards the tempting water and the sweet relief it heralded. He kicked off his pants and tossed his smalls over his shoulder, joining the crumpled pile of clothes strewn haphazardly amongst the ferns as he found himself finally, blessedly, naked.

The dwarf slid into the hot water with a sigh and a beatific smile, oblivious to the sharp gaze darting to his figure.

Legolas narrowed his eyes, peering through a complex lattice of gnarled branches and glossy leaves and thickly mossed trunks at the distant figure. The beard, short and scruffy though it was, did not leave many options for the figure’s identity: it was Prince Kíli. 

What was he doing outside the Halls? 

Being far less inclined to paranoia than his father, Legolas’s mind did not immediately leap to espionage. Rather, he watched the dwarf duck his dark head into the gently steaming water and supposed that he had grown tired of the cold baths which elves favoured.

Kíli flicked his neck back up, droplets spraying from tangled strands and flashing like gemstones beneath the afternoon sun. He stilled for a moment, before shaking himself like a dog with eager enthusiasm, and the elf smiled instinctively.

Perhaps the dwarf simply wanted to sport. After all, he was quite young by the measure of his people, if Legolas recalled correctly; and Legolas himself well knew the tedium of lengthy negotiations. He could barely stand a single hour of them before itching for sunlight upon his skin and the rustle of leaves in his ear. Even his father, with his centuries of experience, required a sizeable glass of Dorwinion Red after a certain amount of time.

Yes, guard duty was certainly preferable, even if Legolas _was_ bound to the same grassy knoll until sunset. At least he could listen to the call of songbirds, and the whispers of the wind, and — what was that?

Before he could determine the origin of the strange noise, there came another: louder, longer, catching with an unfortunate clarity upon Legolas’s sharp ears. 

A _moan_.

Legolas’s gaze snapped to Prince Kíli. The source of the sound.

As he stared, uncharacteristically startled, the dwarf stretched himself against the spring’s stone edge, one sturdy arm flung along the rim, the other curving down beneath the water, where it flexed with quick, sharp movements. His mouth dropped open around another obscene groan and he tipped his head back in bliss, baring the line of his throat.

Legolas blinked, once, before swiftly averting his eyes.

By the Grace of Varda! What a… _situation_.

The dwarf clearly believed his privacy to be complete, and Legolas had become an unwelcome intruder to an extremely personal act. Kíli would certainly be horrified to know of his presence. 

But he could not desert his post.

A loud, pleased hum interrupted Legolas’s thoughts. Before he could think better of it, his eyes again found Kíli. He’d drawn his lower lip beneath the sharp line of his teeth, which only served to cause his sounds to rumble from deeper within his chest — the chest that he was exploring with wide, thick fingers. Momentarily captivated, Legolas watched their lazy path from the hollow of a pale throat to the peak of a nipple nestled within coarse whorls of hair. There they caught upon something glinting silver, and _tugged_ , drawing an almost pained noise from the restlessly writhing dwarf.

Legolas’s fingers twitched around the smooth wood of his bow. 

With a great force of will, he again looked away, determined to focus upon the depths of Eastern Greenwood before him. The immense spiders, though greatly reduced in number since the triumph before Erebor’s gates a year before, were still a malignant presence within the forest, and it would not do to be surprised by an attack because of a private deed that he should not have been witness to in the first place.

Kíli had begun to pant. Legolas could hear it, with torturous clarity. A wayward part of his mind began to wonder what Kíli was doing now — whether he still toyed with the metal looped through his nipple, or if he was instead scraping blunt nails down his thickly muscled abdomen. Did he still bite his lip? Or had he released it, leaving it berry-red and slick?

In the past, Legolas had always been able to brush away unwanted thoughts like so many errant autumn leaves.

Not so now.

No matter what he did, his mind refused to empty. Images, granted life-like realism by his elven mind, replaced the green tableau before him, brighter and more colourful than any physical sight. The constant stream of _sounds_ merely added another layer to the entire torturous experience.

Entirely unaware of the torment that his actions were causing a certain elven prince, Kíli twitched at a particularly blissful twist of his hand. _Mahal_ , this was good. It was almost worth the weeks of unending frustration.

Almost.

Kíli’s free hand, which had been absently seeking through the ferns, found the soft fabric of his pants, and he grinned and tugged them towards himself. Maybe it would be _undoubtedly_ worth the preceding weeks when he put the contents of his left pocket to work.

The rhythm of his occupied hand slowed to something relaxed and leisurely. With the presence of long-awaited privacy, the promise of an imminent increase in pleasure, and the knowledge that he could take his relief whenever he wished it, the worst of his desperation had ebbed. He was absolutely free to take his time and enjoy himself. 

Kíli intended to do _exactly_ that.

With this in mind, he fished out one of the two items in his pocket, uncorking the small steel flask with his teeth and spitting the cap unceremoniously into the water. It wasn’t going anywhere. He’d pick it up later. He was much more interested in drizzling the viscous oil over his fingers, watching the glint of the deep amber liquid as his breaths quickened in anticipation.

Kíli planted his feet firmly against the rocky base of the spring and braced his back against the side. He was then free to reach down and slowly, oh-so-slowly, press one slick finger inside himself.

Oh.

Oh, _Mahal_.

_Yes_.

It had been far too long since Kíli last had the occasion — or inclination — to breach himself, and he found that he had missed it immensely. Eagerly he joined the first finger with a second.

His eyes rolled back into his head.

A hitching cry tore itself from his throat, wordless and utterly filthy.

This was the best idea he’d ever had in his entire _life_. 

Legolas’s ears burned hot as flame beneath his hands, which, like a child, he had resorted to clapping over his ears in the hope of muffling the evidence of the dwarf prince’s pleasure. It was harrowingly futile. Every soft moan, every keening whine, every startled, delighted gasp filtered through his fingers, and each would send a prickling shiver webbing down his spine.

Every last one was branded into his memory. He knew that he would never be able to escape them, should he live to be as ancient as the Lady of Lórien herself.

A sudden silence drew his attention. 

Not allowing himself to celebrate prematurely, Legolas waited. 

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

Perhaps the dwarf had…finished. The thought was accompanied by a strange mixture of relief, because his torment had ended, and disappointment, because he could not pinpoint which sound had heralded the dwarf’s peak. Legolas quickly endeavoured to banish the latter, as it was — as so many things had been on that cursed afternoon — deeply inappropriate.

When the silence held, the elf allowed his hands to slip down to his sides with an inaudible sigh of relief. The glint of sunlight upon metal caught his eye from the very corners of his vision and he followed it instinctively. 

Legolas’s lips parted slightly, in the closest an elf would ever come to openly _gaping_.

Kíli gave the smooth silver instrument one final stroke with his oiled palm, admiring the way it shone in the glade’s gentle golden light. It was roughly cylindrical, about the same length as his hand, from the base of his palm to the tip of his longest finger, and almost as thick as his wrist. This would be the first time he put it to proper use. It was larger than his previous toys, more textured, and he was very excited to find out how it felt.

Well, no sense in waiting any longer.

Legolas watched the instrument disappear beneath the surface of the water. He didn’t need to see it to know when it entered Kíli’s body; the flutter of his dark lashes, the crease that dug itself between his brows, the twitch of his chin and the shift of his hips were enough.

The high, broken whimper, on the other hand — that was _too much_.

When Kíli began to work the instrument in and out, movement betrayed by the ripple of the water and the shift of his shoulder, Legolas could not have looked away for any power in Middle Earth. He simply watched, still enough to be statuesque, barely even drawing breath, as Kíli’s pace picked up and his whimpers became gasps, became moans, became cries. His other hand was working furiously and he was all but thrashing, eyes screwed shut, hips snapping up in a desperate, mindless frenzy as he chased his completion. 

Kíli _wailed_.

He arched out of the water. 

For one suspended second Legolas could see _all of it_ , all of _him_ , glistening and flushed, as white droplets streaked that strong chest, before Kíli fell back down with a splash. Spent, he sank slowly down into the spring, head falling to the side, resting his cheek against the edge. The tangled strands of hair strewn across his face didn’t conceal his lopsided grin. It was languid and rapturous with an entirely unabashed joy, and Legolas felt something within his chest tighten at the sight.

Kíli sat, and huffed out shaky breaths, and eventually pawed the wayward hair back. His eyes slitted open. Even from where he stood, Legolas could see that they were hazed with pleasure, their customary bright spark softened.

Only then did he realise that every inch of his skin burned, that his breaths came ragged and quick, and that he would, in all likelihood, find it necessary to perform a similar…tension-relieving activity. Preferably sooner rather than later, if he were to comply with the extremely loud and insistent wishes of his body.

Legolas drew in a long breath and straightened his spine. He turned his attention firmly to the forest before him.

It was going to be a very long afternoon.

~

That night, between somewhat reluctant bites of something green, leafy, and oddly peppery, Kíli sent a questioning glance to the elf beside him. 

As Prince and Delegate of Erebor, for the duration of his stay he had been granted the debatable honour of taking his evening meals at the King’s own table. As such, he was seated to the right of Mirkwood’s own Prince, with whom he had become quite friendly. Unlike most of his kin, Prince Legolas seemed to view Kíli as something marginally more pleasant than a particularly compact warg. He was also in possession of a mischievous streak, which Kíli found very promising, and had become determined to see more of. The two princes usually spent their meals in fairly amiable conversation, discussing archery, song, or the desirability of beards.

Not tonight. Tonight, Legolas was staring down at his plate of foliage with a forbidding set to his slender brows, his mouth pressed into a tight line. Kíli noticed with some perplexity that the tips of his leaf-shaped ears had also flushed a delicate pink.

‘Legolas?’ he tried, and watched the sharp jaw twitch. ‘Is everything…alright?’

‘I am fine,’ Legolas told his salad, sharply.

Kíli scratched at his brow. ‘Really? It’s just — you’re very quiet.’

He watched, confusion mounting, as the shade of Legolas’s ears darkened to a dusky red, and the elf drew himself up — still without meeting Kíli’s eyes, he noted. 

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I simply have a…headache. Please excuse me.’

And with that, he rose to his feet, pushed back his chair, and fled.

Kíli stared at the place where he had sat not three seconds before.

‘Elves,’ he muttered beneath his breath, only to blush darkly when a dark-haired elf on the other side of the crowded room pursed her lips at him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought, comments mean a lot to me and I would love to hear them. Anything at all would be welcome! :)
> 
> Also, feel free to point out any mistakes - I'm sure there are many, given what time this was written at.


End file.
